Words Less Spoken
by Bexi
Summary: A confrontation with Marcus Flint has dire consequences and Percy finds himself questioning his friendship with Oliver. When the pair come to blows, the twins intervene and dish out a little "just desserts", which backfires, having serious repercussions for their brother. Set during COS. No slash.
1. Part I

Words Less Spoken

A Harry Potter fanfiction

Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling

This story is purely for entertainment – please do not get offended

Enjoy…

Part I

* * *

Patrolling the corridors, mindful of a group of first years that immediately stopped running upon seeing the shinning _Prefect_ badge on his robes, Percy Weasley wondered how the new school year had become so disastrous so early on. Summer had been nothing short of wonderful. The memory of his constant exchange of letters with Penelope Clearwater, the radiant fourth year who stood next to him and eagerly cheered on Gryffindor during a Quidditch match against Slytherin, brought a shy smile to his face. They had exchanged pleasantries during the match and parted ways, not expecting to see each other again. Needless to say, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt a tap on his shoulder during Gryffindor's second match and turned to see Penelope standing behind him, long chestnut hair cascading in curls around her face and a wide smile gracing her features as she told him that they really must stop meeting like this. They saw very little of each other during the rest of the year, which is why he found it slightly odd that she had sent him a letter four days after school had ended for the year, announcing that she had been made a prefect, which Percy triumphantly congratulated her for, and claiming that it would be beneficial for the school if they conducted their duties together as a way of uniting two houses together and if she was to be associated with any particular Prefect, she would rather it be a Gryffindor who shares the same intellectual logic as her fellow Ravenclaws. His pride instantly swelled at the unexpected compliment, recalling how the Sorting Hat had um-ed and ah-ed over which house Percy was best suited to. His unfathomable thirst for knowledge had pointed towards Ravenclaw; however, his spirit leaned closer to Gryffindor. There had even been, to Percy's great horror, a mention of Slytherin at one point due to his dedicated and somewhat blind ambition, something that Percy wasn't even aware of at the time; however, he refused to be the proverbial black sheep of the Weasley clan any more than he was. Thus, he was sorted into Gryffindor. He had even mentioned this in his return letter to Penelope, conveniently leaving out all mentions of Slytherin, as he did with everyone else. This was one secret he would be taking to the grave. Not expecting a reply, Percy had been pleasantly surprised when Hermes returned the next day with another letter from her, curious about the lingering scent of lavender that tickled his senses but decided against inquiring about it in fears of offending her after only two days. Their correspondence continued daily and Percy found himself warming up to the budding friendship that was developing between them. Penelope was genuinely interested in what he had to say and her own replies were just as long and engaging. She did not mock or ridicule his plans for the future, unlike the members of his own family. Instead, she listened and explained her own ambitions of becoming a Healer and wanting to make her own mark in the medical field. With only a few weeks until the start of the new school year, Percy found himself anticipating the first day back, eager to see Penelope and continue their engaging discussions in person.

He was perfectly aware that his newfound behaviour was causing his family, especially Fred and George, to become overly suspicious. The twins would take every opportunity they could to sneak a peek into his room, desperately curious about what was in the multitude of letters that he was receiving. Their pranks continued and even when he accidentally drank a potion that caused his hair to resemble an overgrown cabbage patch (darn his luck in inheriting the curly Prewett hair while his sibling inherited the tameable Weasley locks), he merely laughed this off and returned to his room, eagerly awaiting his reply from Penelope. Seeing the twins flabbergasted and at a loss for words had made it almost worthwhile. The letter that had landed on his desk had not been from Penelope but from Oliver Wood, his friend and fellow roommate at Hogwarts. Spending the summer with his grandmother in some remote town in the Scottish Highlands that he didn't know even existed, Oliver wrote to Percy, stating that his grandmother (affectingly called 'Gram') had confiscated his broom, claiming them to be unsafe after an incident as a child left him with only several functioning bones, and that other than talking to a rabid cat and people over the age of fifty, Percy was the next best thing for any form of communication. Wondering whether Oliver was still lamenting over his lack of broom, he did not expect the reply he got:

_The uniting of two houses? That's obvious, even by Gryffindor standards, let alone Ravenclaws. Hope you let her know that.  
Man, Perce, of everyone to bag themselves a girlfriend, I didn't expect it to be you (no offense, mate!)._

_Anyway, I've decided to devise a new training programme because last year was just abysmal! Of all the years for Gryffindor to face its worse loss ever, it just had to be during my rein as Captain. Bloody typical, I tell you!_

What on earth…

Was he really that detached from the world of socialisation that he failed to realise he had a girlfriend? Well, what did Oliver Wood honestly know about the world of relationships anyway? The only relationship he maintained was with his broomstick. He would need to discuss this startling revelation with Penelope.

School started and he could not contain his smile upon seeing Penelope again. He decided on a different approach in discovering whether Penelope was indeed his girlfriend. He had taken her to a secluded corner and politely asked whether it would be possible to keep the fact that she was his … girlfriend … to themselves so early on due to the fact – well, due to his family really. Uncertain of what her response would be, Percy absently fidgeted on the spot, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Penelope, however, smiled and threw her arms around him, gently pressing her lips against his cheek and whispering a soft "of course" in his ear before nestling her head in the crook of his neck.

Percy composed himself fully after he uttered the password to the Fat Lady, stepping through the portrait that would lead him to the Common Room. Nothing was out of place – he was poised and self-contained, holding himself high as he strode past the Gryffindor students and made his way to his dormitory.

"Didnae I tell you?" came an amused voice to his right, laced with a thick Scottish accent.

Turning swiftly on his heel, immediately recognising the voice, Percy looked around for the speaker. He saw Oliver sitting in front of the roaring fire, delicately polishing his broom and ensuring that not a single bristle was bent out of shape. He never looked away from his broom, even when the twins, who were playing a game of Exploding Snap on the floor, looked in his direction in hopes of having the big secret disclosed.

Refusing to take the bait, Percy tried to suppress a smile but felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Who would have guessed that Oliver Wood would be so observant about things that didn't involve Quidditch terminology? It did little to change the fact that Percy would rather face Madam Pince's wrath (not that that would ever happen as Percy was as fervent about books as she was) than openly admit that he was wrong about something. Instead, he continued his way to the dormitories without a word.

This action alone caused suspicion to Fred, who threw his cards down and stared in the direction his brother left, loudly exclaiming: "Something's definitely going with him."

"He didn't even parade around, telling us it's after curfew," George nodded, gathering the cards together.

"Most strange."

"Strange indeed."

Before George had the chance to deal another hand of cards, Percy suddenly appeared at the entrance to the boy's dormitories.

"It's after hours," he announced loudly, casting a measured gaze over the few remaining students in the Common Room. "If you're not in your dormitories within the next five minutes then I shall issue a detention for each and every one of you," he added gravely, crossing his arms as he leant against the stone archway, silently observing the students collecting their things and leaving for their respected dorms.

"Spoke to soon, ay, lads?" Oliver laughed heartily, giving his broom one final wipe before standing up and leaving the Common Room too.

"Fred, George: please don't dilly-dally," Percy huffed, eyes narrowing behind his horn-rimmed frames.

The twins grinned. Fred pocketed the cards, seemingly not noticing a single card fluttering to the ground as he walked away.

"Dilly-dally?" he said, looking to his twin.

"Us?" George responded.

"Never," they coursed simultaneously, throwing an arm around Percy's neck, relishing in the fact that they were now a couple of inches taller than their older brother.

"You've ten seconds and counting," Percy said shortly.

George nodded his head and removed his arm, making a move backwards before looking around the Common Room and turning his attention back to his brothers.

"Fred, you've dropped a card. How careless."

"Very careless indeed," he agreed, removing his own arm from Percy's shoulder and pulling out his wand, pointing it in the direction of the card. "_Wingardium leviosa_."

The card fluttered on the ground for a split second before gently floating upwards. It stopped in mid-air once it reached a certain height and then began to twirl and spin, dancing slowly towards the archway. It fluttered above Percy's head, tapping his hair before jumping in the air.

Percy sighed as he reached to grab the card, his patience wearing thin.

Fred and George shared a silent grin as they observed and George removed his own wand, whispering something under his breath, gently flicking his wrist.

Percy touched the card, wrapping his fingers delicately around the edges and jumped back as he felt the card explode, a cloud of black soot encompassing his head.

"Good night, big brother," they laughed in a sing-song voice, disappearing upstairs.

"Wretched twins," Percy growled, face and hair now smeared with powered darkness. Using the back of his hand, he unsuccessfully removed the soot from his glasses, his sight now hindered by dark blotches. He sighed once again, turning swiftly and storming up the stairs, hoping he would be able to sneak into his dormitory without being mocked by Oliver…

So, how had the new school year had become so disastrous, barring the twins constant shenanigans because that was a given really when ones surname was Weasley and the first name Percy. No, the twins had nothing on this. His gripe was with that simple minded being that had the audacity to call himself a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. How could that man hope to teach when he was barely familiar with a patronus charm? Percy had naturally assumed the man to be joking. He had read all the books and was familiar with the great accomplishments of Gilderoy Lockheart. Now, however, he was beginning to doubt all he had read now. What could possibly be worse than having his education ruined by an incompetent buffoon?

Percy was jolted from his reverie when he felt himself being pushed aside, colliding with the wall.

"Watch where you're going, Weasley," sneered a gruff voice that sounded like someone had a flobberworm stuck down the wrong side of their throat.

Percy instantly recognised the voice.

"Flint."

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

This is the first Harry Potter based story I have written in over ten years. The other are obviously not posted here - nor will they ever be.

So, as you have noticed I am basically merging bits of the book with the film version in terms of character descriptions, which is due to the fact that I love the portrayal of certain characters. The Weasley's were especially perfect (minus Percy and Arthur wearing glasses, which I cannot ignore).

A few minor changes. Charlie's last year at Hogwarts is during Percy's second. I did this because I wanted Percy to have a whole year alone in Hogwarts without any of his siblings around. Also, Marcus Flint is in the same year as Percy and does not repeat a year.

I hope you enjoy what I have written and I thank you all in advance.


	2. Part II

Part II

...

"Flint," Percy scowled, absently rubbing his arm and straightening his glasses before turning to face Flint and his two faithful minions, who he assumed were nearby as they were never out of the company of the Quidditch Captain for too long.

Percy was correct about the scene he was witness to. Marcus Flint was stood in front of him, arms crossed, broad shoulders slumped backwards and his face contorted into a grotesque sneer that showed half a row of crooked teeth. As expected, Percy noted that both Bole and Derrick, two Slytherin Beaters, were stood at Flint's side and looked as if they barely had a brain cell between them. Why was it that Slytherins travelled in packs of three most of the time? He was perfectly aware that his youngest brother had encountered several confrontations between the Malfoy boy and two Slytherins that followed him around. Not that Ron had told him any of this. No, when one was a Prefect at Hogwarts, and on such close terms with several teachers as Percy was, he was frequently privy to such information. Being a Prefect had its advantages besides the obvious.

"Looks like a little weasel out for a stroll," Flint said, smiling even wider than before. Bole and Derrick laughed next to him, always eager to please and encourage rousing behaviour.

"What's up – lose your friends?" Bole sniggered.

"Need to have mates in order to lose 'em," Derrick answered back, a bellowing laugh erupting from his mouth.

For a brief second, Percy's perfectly practiced façade faltered. Ears tipped red, jaw locked tight, mouth drawn into a thin line and his brows furrowed as his glasses shadowed his fixed expression. Usually, he would not yield, preferring to ignore Marcus Flint altogether or react with words, either polite replies or carefully structured retorts that would go over Flint's head. Never had he responded with physical violence or magic though. He refused to lower himself to that level – it was exactly what Flint wanted.

"Rumours spread, Weasley, and secrets are always discovered."

Percy was taken back. "What are you talking about, Flint?" he asked, a little harsher than he intended. He was having a bad day, after all.

Bole and Derricked laughed as Flint pulled a scrap of parchment from his robes, holding it up. "Wood's little secret."

Percy scanned his eyes over the note with an unreadable expression. He knew that almost illegible chicken scrawl anywhere, there was no denying it.

"All this time we assumed the _great_ Gryffindor Captain, Oliver Wood, got onto the team through pure talent when all this time, all he had to do was befriend Charlie Weasley's little brother – you."

Thoughts circulated at a frantic pace around Percy's head, thoughts so shuffled and jumbled that they all collided together and became a gigantic mass of irregular emotions that formed one word: damn. He knew exactly what Flint was planning on doing. The boy was ridiculously transparent that the blatant obviousness sometimes caused Percy's head to hurt.

He had to divert his attention.

"This is rather ridiculous, even for you, Flint," Percy commented, a smile gracing his features as he lazily leaned against the stone wall. "Are you truly that threatened by Oliver on the Quidditch pitch that you feel the need to fabricate speculations that will not only sully his name, but also that of my brother's?"

Before he had time to react, Flint grabbed Percy by lapels of his robes, pulling him sharply so he was only a couple of centre-metres away from his face. "You calling me a liar, Weasley?" he snarled, eyes ablaze with pure loathing.

Bole and Derrick said nothing, merely looking towards each other with an air of caution.

"Not a liar, per say," Percy replied tersely. He was out of his comfort zone here. He was losing control of the situation. He needed to do something fast. "However, considering how you managed to pitch a place on your own team, this is relatively normal behaviour for you, isn't it?"

"I'd hold my tongue if I were you, Weasley," Flint spat, eyes growing darker than ever before.

_Don't antagonise him furthermore_, he mentally scolded. "Blackmail, wasn't it?"

Percy groaned as he felt himself being forced against the wall, a slight pain coursing down his back. He shouldn't have expected anything less really. He was, after all, essentially provoking Marcus Flint, an ill-tempered Slytherin who had size and strength on his side, something Percy lacked tremendously in comparison. He would need to use his own strengths and wits.

Within the blink of an eye, he removed his wand and pointed it directly at Flint. "You can go at Oliver all you like, because he doesn't need me to defend him, however, don't you ever dare bring my family into your pretty squabbles," he warned in a dangerously low voice.

Flint reluctantly released him and Percy took that opportunity to seize the parchment from his hand, wand still held in defence. "Do you not think I would not recognise my own brother's handwriting? If you did not write this, then it looks like you have fallen for an obvious prank, probably courtesy of my younger brothers. If that is the case, then more fool you."

Flint smiled, which sent a shiver down Percy's spine. A smiling Marcus Flint was never a good omen. "Watch your back, Weasley. I mean it," he said, turning on his heel and striding down the corridor, loudly beckoning Bole and Derrick to follow.

Percy watched until all three Slytherins were out of sight before relaxing slightly. What he said had not been a complete lie but he knew that it needed to be done. He could not risk the chance of anyone finding out. To think, the twins thought that he was merely a pompous know-it-all who wouldn't know a joke if it came up to him, flicked him on the nose and announced itself. Hadn't he technically pulled the largest joke of his life by belittling Marcus Flint in front of his minions and doing so in such a way that even they had their doubts?

He then remembered Flint's final words:

_"Watch your back, Weasley. I mean it."_

Or he had just signed his own death warrant?

Only time would tell. However, it did little to change the facts though.

Looking at the parchment, fully absorbing the words, Percy grimaced. Charlie had written this. Why though? He knew that Charlie would never allow anyone onto the team who was less than perfect – he was too good of a captain to pull a dirty stunt like this. He also knew that Oliver immensely prided himself on his skill for the game – he would never allow himself to be bought like that.

So why did this leave a sinking feeling inside the pit of his stomach?

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Thanks goes out to Sara Wolfe for you review - I appreciate it very much.  
Also, thanks for those who are following :D


	3. Part III

Part III

...

Percy was pacing the length of his dormitory, sighing under his breath and muttering incoherent words and broken sentences. Occasionally, he would stop and sit at his desk, which was a transfigured bedside table, and stare aimlessly at his History of Magic book, not even attempting to process the words. This would last a matter of minutes before he was on his feet again.

He looked outside the window, realising it was pointless to do so, but continued either way. He could not see anything other than darkness. He hadn't expected to spot anything. Hermes was too darkly coloured to be easily spotted in the dead of the night, which, for an owl, had many advantages. Besides, it had only been three days since Percy sent a message to Charlie asking, politely of course, what on earth he was thinking writing such a message to Oliver and whether or not he fully understood the implications if said message were to wind up in the wrong hands - if. Obviously, he did not expect a reply instantly – Charlie was a busy man after all. It had, however, done very little to stop him from becoming anxious the moment Hermes left Hogwarts with the parchment rolled neatly between his talons.

So far, Marcus Flint had done very little to uphold his end of the threat he made. He made comments and snide remarks, which Oliver remained oblivious to, but nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn't that Flint worried him – no, he could hold his own against him any day. No, what worried Percy the most was the damage to other people that Flint could inflict. He was not above being ruthless and downright vicious at times.

"Oi, mate – quit it!"

Percy stopped. When had Oliver come into the dorm?

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Well that sounded sincere," Oliver groaned, closing his eyes as he lay on his bed, hands propped at the back of his head.

"What?" Percy inattentively responded, forcefully pulling the chair out, cringing at the scraping sound its legs made against the wooden floor, and throwing himself down. Sometimes there were disadvantages to sharing a dormitory with only one other person, being that forced conversation became awkward very quickly and if one person had a problem, it would directly affect the other as they had no other person to direct the attention to. Percy briefly wondered whether the sixth year girls had any problems of the sort, because it surely must become problematic sharing a room with eight people altogether. An influx of girls and a shortage of boys. The notion was nothing but laughable really.

"What's your problem?" Oliver snapped, sitting up fully.

Percy turned his head towards Oliver, shocked upon seeing the other wearing mismatched pyjamas and sitting up in bed, covers bunched around his waist. Was it that late already? How had he not realised?

"Sorry," he repeated softly, genuinely meaning the words this time.

"You're up and down – up and down," he said, moving his hands around to emphasis the movement. "You're like some kid who cannae decide if he wants to be a dragon or a broomstick when he grows up."

Percy stared at Oliver, deadpanned expression across his face. "Sounds like Charlie…"

"Quit your blethering and let me sleep – okay? Quidditch practice starts tomorrow." With that, Oliver lay back down and turned over, pulling the covers as high around himself as possible.

Deciding that Oliver was correct, Percy quietly stood up and began to change into his own oversized pyjamas. It was late. Maybe he would hear back tomorrow.

A familiar trilling noise caused Percy to snap his attention to the open window, a small smile creasing his face as he saw a rusty red coloured owl (_very fitting colour for a Weasley, _Percy thought_) _dart in through the opening and circle the room before descending towards the desk, dropping a rolled message. Ignoring the muffled sounds coming from Oliver's bed, Percy gently ran his fingers over the tufted feathers, seeing a pair of bright eyes looking at him. He unrolled the parchment, reading the messy scrawl:

_Dear Percy,_

_Firstly, you need to relax, little brother. Breathe – in and out. In with the good air and out with the bad._

_Don't worry about that note. I can see how it could be easily misconstrued; however, I had no intentions of letting Oliver onto the team by those terms alone. He's a fantastic player … a little over enthusiastic at times, but that's good for team morale! Now, as for my actual intentions for the note – I was worried about you. Bill had just left and I was in my last year. I needed to make sure you had someone to stop you from working yourself to death – at least until Fred and George started. Oliver seemed like the best bet, seeing as you were already sharing a dorm. Besides, no doubt Oliver would have gotten rid of that note because it was nearly four years ago._

_Also, I believe congratulations are in order: twelve OWLs! Fantastic! Bill will be chuffed when he hears the news (if he hasn't already, that is)._

_How is Ginny getting on? I know she's wanted to go to Hogwarts since Bill started but she's still young. You'll keep an eye on her, I know. Hope the twins aren't causing _too_ much trouble. Tell Ron he's in for it off mum when she next sees him. She's livid about that car, you know._

_Take care._

_Love,  
Charlie_

Percy chuckled softly, feeling slightly relieved to have Charlie's views on why he had sent that note. His heart had always been in the right place, even if he had a slightly misguided way of expressing it. He only wished he had been able to tell Charlie at the time that there was no need for all this and that he was actually looking forward to being in school for a whole year without any of his siblings. It wasn't that he disliked his siblings, au contraire, he loved them all dearly. However, he had never been without them – ever. No, being a Weasley without any siblings around must be what the first years felt … that small, desolate sense of being alone. It was … different, to say in the least.

"Where'd you get this?" Oliver asked suddenly, causing Percy to jump, startled for a moment. He turned around, seeing Oliver holding the note that he had confiscated off Flint. "I left this in my copy of _Quidditch: Through the Ages_. I widnea leave that book lying around just anywhere, so why do you have it?"

"I took this off another student," he replied, folding the letter he received from Charlie and sliding it underneath his books.

Oliver arched a brow. "Who?"

Percy bit the inside of his lip. Telling Oliver that Flint found this note would be like fanning a flame, however, not telling Oliver could possibly be worse. He was certain that his words had the desired effect and that (hopefully) Flint was having doubts about the origin of the message, causing him to question everything.

What if though…

"Listen here, Percy. You're my mate and all, but-"

"It was Marcus Flint."

For a moment, Oliver stared at him; shock and disbelief etched across his features as the realisation dawned upon him. Slowly, he brought a hand to his head, absently running his fingers through his dark hair. "Bastard's had it out for me since - shite." Turning away viciously, he angrily paced back and forth a few steps before swinging around, slamming his fist to the desk, causing Hermes to fly away. "Why the hell didnae tell me? D'ye have any idea what's gonnae happen now? Do you!?"

"Is it true though?" Percy whispered in a voice so low that he was unsure whether he had spoken aloud at all. "Is that the reason why we are friends?"

Oliver stared, eyes darkening. "What's it matter if that's the reason why we're friends? What's more important here is that Flint is trying to tarnish _my_ reputation by spreading some batshite rumours. How could you be so…"

"Oliver…"

Oliver stormed across the room and sat on his bed, turning his back fully to the other, using his wand to turn off the lights. "Donnae talk to me, Percy. I'm too pissed off right now to talk to you…"

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Here is the next chapter. Things are starting to progress a little further now. As always, thank yous are in order for those who reviewed and/or adding this to favourites and whatnots.

**Sara:** Well, you know what they say about us hurting the ones we love :D  
**InnocentMurderer**: Thanks for the review but this story shall remain as non-slash. Though, I will admit to being a tiny Oliver/Percy fan but you all can read into this however you like :)


	4. Part IV

Part IV

...

A high-pitched warbling caused Oliver's eyes to flicker open, recoiling at the early morning light that made his eyes water and sting. He closed his eyes again and buried his face into the soft confines of his pillow, listening to the sounds around him. Hermes was no doubt perched proudly on the highest point in the dormitory, piercing green eyes remaining vigilant, watching everything and everyone. He warbled again, this time louder. Oliver found the sounds difficult to ignore. Despite the fact that silence is a contributing factor to any owl's way of life, aiding greatly in hunting and midnight vigils, Hermes was a terribly vocal creature. He was also terribly solitary, which could easily be confused with pretentiousness according to the twins, and refused to reside in the owlery, preferring the high crevices in the dormitory or the canopy atop of Percy's bed. Thus, it had become routine to hear the bird announcing his presence early morning. Percy found this to be extremely useful. Oliver, however, did not.

Not today. Especially not today.

He was furious. Still. At Flint. At Percy. At everybody. So much was at risk – why did not one else realise this? Surely somebody as intelligent as Percy could see what Oliver had to lose if these ridiculous rumours surfaced. Were his glasses so fogged over than he could not see the important details and only caught a glimpse of the tiny, non-important aspects? Quidditch wasn't just some game to him. To others it was a mere game that brought about the various different moods to people. They would play for fun, support their teams with blood, sweat and tears and at the end of the match, they would either celebrate or lament before continuing with their lives. This was not the case with Oliver. No, Quidditch was his everything. His passion. His drive. His dream. He would go pro after school – or die trying. Being Captain of the Gryffindor team would go in his favour. Winning the cup would be even better. Either way, everything he did at school, all these achievements, would go in his favour.

Now someone was trying to take this away from him. _I'm gonnae break his face when I next see him_.

At least he had Quidditch practice to distract himself. Only an additional hour of sleep and he would be right as rain.

_Screech._

_Screech._

"Shut the bloody bird up!" Oliver shouted, though his voice was muffled into the pillow and came out as nothing but a string of gibberish.

_Screech._

_Squawk!_

"Oi, Weasley!" he growled as he shot up, snapping a glare to the redhead's bed, which was perfectly made and showed no sign of being slept in at all. He looked around but could see no sign of Percy. The door to the shared bathroom (each dormitory had their own bathroom) was open ajar. Percy would always close it.

_Hoot_.

"'Am up!" he shouted at the owl, eyes narrowing upon seeing Hermes staring down at him. He threw the covers aside and stood up, childishly refusing to straighten the bed, and marched across the room to where his scarlet Quidditch robes were hanging. "See!"

Hermes hooted once more before opening his wings and taking flight, quickly darting out of the open window. Pulling on his robes, Oliver watched until the bird disappeared into the thick morning mist, stifling a yawn behind his hand. It was far too early.

"Might as well wake the team – why waste time sleeping?" he grumbled lowly.

…

The Quidditch Captain entered the second year's dormitory, not caring about the noise he made as he walked with heavy footfalls to Harry's bed and began to shake him awake.

"Whassamatter?" said Harry groggily.

"Quidditch practice," Oliver briskly replied. "Come on!"

Harry blinked, squinting as he stole a quick glance at the window, seeing the blanket of thin mist covering the pink and gold flecked sky. The birds were loud, the chorus of songs announcing the new day. What a racket.

"Oliver," Harry croaked, "it's the crack of dawn."

Oliver grinned broadly, an impish glint present in his eyes as he leaned closer to Harry. "Exactly! It's part of our new training programme. Come on, grab your broom and let's go." He looked around the dormitory, briefly wondering how and why Ron could willingly support The Chudley Cannons – they were bottom of the league. "None of the other teams have started training yet, we're going to be first off the mark this year…"

Silencing a yawn with his hand, Harry climbed out of his bed, shivering slightly at the bitter cold that hit him, and reached for his glasses before he began to look for his robes.

"Good man," Oliver beamed, slapping Harry on the back and almost knocking him down in the process. "Meet you on the pitch in fifteen minutes – don't be late!" he added before rushing out of the room to wake the other members of the team.

…

It was like a miniature forestry wonderland inside a large, and slightly odd shaped, tank. Small bushes quivered in the corners as if an invisible breeze was rushing through the leaves. The crisp foliage that littered the ground was alive with insects and tadpoles swam freely in the vast pool of cloudy water. The end of the tank was a mountained dirt bank, its highest peak tipping above the corner sides with an avalanche of dust occasionally falling down the sides. A dark crevice opened at the foot of the mountain, a large hairy leg peeking out was the only visible sight. Slowly, the leg twitched and moved forward, followed by seven additional legs and a large black and orange tipped body. The arachnid scurried across the foliage with such speed, stalking its pray before striking.

Oliver grimaced as he witnessed the carnage. The spider itself did not bother him. In fact, he had grown used to the twins bringing the eight-legged creature to practice and declaring it their official mascot. Funnily enough, the only times they would do this was when their younger brother would come and support Harry.

"Warm up!" they would declare gleefully, sniggering loudly as they used magic to charm the spider to float around Ron's head.

No, it was the creature that the spider was devouring that brought a grimace to Oliver's face. A worm. It reminded him of a time where he was forced to watch his older brother, Rob, feed his unofficial pet, a bookworm, to the family owl as revenge for allowing the worm to munch on his expensive and rare Quidditch books. The memory still caused Oliver to choke up inside. That worm, Boo, was his best friend for most of his early years, despite the fact that they were viewed as nothing more than a nuisance. It encouraged him to read more. He would read a page and then rip it out, smiling as he watched the worm nibble on the corner of the pages before devouring the entire page. Oliver was determined to discovered whether the myth of bookworms were true. The more text they devoured, the more intellectual they became – they assimilated what they ate. Legend had it that if they devoured enough text, they would be able to verbalise their thought process (language depending on the text devoured). Unfortunately, Oliver never got the opportunity to learn whether this was fact or fake, much to his own dismay. He never really forgave his brother for that either…

Shaking his head, Oliver turned away from the tank and walked to where the twins were sleeping. One was wrapped tightly within the confines of the warm duvet, whereas the other was asleep on his back, arms draped over the pillow, one leg dangling off the bed and the blankets strewn around him. If Oliver were to hazard a guess, he would say that George was the human caterpillar and Fred was the other. It mattered very little which was which when Oliver conjured two pails of water and watched with a satisfied air as the twins jumped up with a yelp and shivered when the cold morning air hit their sodden clothes and skin.

"Whattha…"

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauties," Oliver grinned. "Quidditch practice in five!"

George shook his hands, water splattering everywhere. "Come back in three hours and we may reconsider," he yawned, despite the beaming light reflecting off the richly coloured décor and glazing him in vibrant glow, causing his eyes to slam closed.

"Make that four," Fred chimed in.

"I shidnae listen to Percy. Told me you were a pair of early birds and suggested an early morning start," the older boy grumbled, over linking his arms.

"Naw, yer shouldn't listen ter tha' wee git. Tha' wee munchkin is gonna git what's comin' ter 'im,"Fred said, imitating his accent.

Oliver arched a brow. "I'm Scottish, not Irish by the way."

"At this time of morning, you could be speaking dragonese and it would all sound the same," he replied briskly, silencing George with a glare.

Oliver sniggered and turned on his heel, shouting over his shoulder, "two minutes," as he left.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, George?" Fred asked, pushing himself off the bed and ridding himself of his wet clothes, throwing them haphazardly on the floor.

George stretched, popping the stiffness out of his neck and back, the joints cracking noisily. "Already one step ahead of you, Fred," he replied, holding up and small vial of clear liquid.

The twins grinned to each other, elated at the reaction they would soon squeeze out of their brother once he consumed their little concoction.

…

Oliver stared at the archway leading to the girl's dormitories. He really hadn't thought this one though. The idea seemed fantastic at the time. Now, however, he was beginning to see the error of his way. How was he to wake the girls if he couldn't enter their dormitories? Curse the original founders of Hogwarts! Boys were just as trustworthy as girls were. His reasons for wanting to enter the girl's rooms at five o'clock in the morning were genuine.

He sighed and slumped against the stone wall, resisting the urge to slide down to the ground. Perhaps he could go back upstairs and convince Hermes to perform a few of his infamous wakeup calls? It was the best, and only, idea he currently had. It would have to do. He was about to turn when he heard the district sound of heels against stone tiles. A young girl with bushy brown hair and a handful of books entered the common room.

"Oi!" Oliver said suddenly, causing the girl to jump and almost drop her books. He clicked his fingers. He couldn't for the life of him remember the name of the girl who hung about with his Seeker. He snapped his fingers again, hoping she would fill in the blanks.

"Hermione Granger," she offered, briefly wondering why the Captain of the Gryffindor team was looking at her as if she was his saviour.

"Right. Can you wake up Angelina, Alicia and Katie?" he asked her, quickly adding, "please?"

Hermione stared at Oliver. "Are you sure it's wise to be waking people at this time of the morning?"

Oliver grinned. If he wasn't used to Percy's general attitude then he may have been offended by Hermione's standoffish and condescending tone.

"I'm up, as are you. Harry and the twins are awake and I believe Percy may be skulking around here somewhere. That makes _at least_ six up at this ungodly hour. That's more than enough for this to be classified as sacrilegious, widnae you agree?"

The girl said nothing. What Oliver said made no sense whatsoever but who was she to argue with a sixth year, especially one as brash and outspoken as Oliver Wood.

"Do whatever it takes, Granger," he told her, crossing his arms and regarding her with a snappish eye before walking off. "Oh," he said, suddenly stopping. "Mind Angelina, she can be rather – well, you'll find out…"

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

I always wondered how Oliver managed to get the girls up ridiculously early when boys can't enter the dorms. This was my take. Also, you could probably guess that I took the text with Harry from the book and added my own little spice. I also realised I made a slight boo-boo with when the twins started Hogwarts. Not sure why, but I was convinced that they started in Percy's four year, not his third - not sure why I thought that. So, that is a little continuity error in my fic ... not that it will matter in the long run.

**tamara72:** I'm a fan of their friendship more than I am of their slashy relationship. I'm convinced that they were bros in the books but Harry was just a little slow on the intake and didn't realise this.

**Flames In Fire**: Thank you for the reviews - I love them all! I'm glad you are enjoying the story. I enjoying writing it. You also don't have to worry about slash fics with me. I may read them but I don't write them :D


	5. Part V

Part V

...

"Harry, shouldn't you be heading down to the Quidditch pitch?" Hermione asked, not looking up from the books she had scattered on the floor in front of her.

Harry was sat on the sofa, the bright glow of the roaring fire warming his face. He closed his eyes for a second, his head dropping further down the plush arm. The warm fire was reminding him of his bed and how he wanted to be there instead of outside in the freezing cold.

"Harry!"

His eyes shot open and he looked around, seeing Hermione looking back at him, a stern glint in her eye.

"I don't think Oliver would be too impressed if he has to come back to drag you to the pitch, would he?" That was the impression she got when he jumped on her the moment she entered the Common Room, asking for her to complete the near impossible. At first she wondered whether he was joking because of the time, however, the expression that crossed his face caused her to rethink that notion. She had been wary about waking the three older girls but she had nothing to fear once she passed on the message that Oliver asked her to do this and that they had to be at the pitch as quick as humanly possible. Angelina looked ready to kill and Hermione was grateful that she would not be to the one on the receiving end of her temper.

"She's right, Harry," said a voice to his right.

"Wood won't think twice about dragging you to the pitch by your hair," said a voice to his left.

The twins.

"I don't know how he gets away with abusing us poor Quidditch players like he does," Fred said, slouching over the back of the sofa, hair still slightly damp from his rude awakening.

"Both McGonagall and Percy let him get away with it too – favouritism, if you ask me," George added, leaning his broom on the side of the sofa, using Harry's slumped head as leverage. He stole a glance towards Hermione and forced back a laugh as he watched her making notes in the margin of the book and making lengthy footnotes. If she wasn't careful then she would be heading down the same direct as Percy, which is something George wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. One Percy was bad enough. The world wouldn't be able to handle another insufferable, stuck-in-the-mud swot who believed the world was split into the ministry workers and everything else.

"I very much doubt that," Hermione chimed in, her tone sceptical. "Professor McGonagall is far too professional to play favourites."

"What do you call this then?" George asked, moving his broom, hitting Harry's head a little harder than he originally intended.

Harry sat up further, absently rubbing the side of his head. "If I am anyone's favourite, I doubt it would be McGonagall's," he muttered, recalling the lectures, detentions and deducted points last year, courtesy of one Professor McGonagall. He was certainly no favourite.

"Oh come off it, Harry," Fred snorted. "That _Nimbus Two Thousand_ says otherwise."

Harry looked down at the broom that lay snugly across his lap, the calligraphic signature on the handle glistening golden red, flames reflecting in the immaculate varnish. He was perfectly aware of the rules against first years having their own broom, having Hermione remind him at every opportunity ensured that, but the notion escaped him after mounting the broom for that first time and feeling the wind blowing through his hair at the complete freedom it enabled him.

"I don't…"

"Wood told us that he and McGonagall had discussed for hours which broom would best suit you. Apparently she was leaning closer towards the _Cleansweet Seven_, whereas Wood was convinced the _Nimbus Two Thousand_ would be better for a swift and agile Seeker, such as yourself."

The black-haired boy looked backwards, the look of bewilderment and slight amusement crossing his features. He struggled to imagine McGonagall, strict and straitlaced, casually discussing Quidditch, possibly over tea and sandwiches, with the fanatical, and at times crazy (scary crazy), Oliver Wood. "When did that happen?" he asked, not helping himself. His curiosity was now officially piqued.

"Detention," the twins coursed.

"Detention?" Hermione squeaked, closing her Potions textbook and pushing it aside.

Before anyone had the chance to finish the story, the voice of a slightly irritated Angelina Johnson echoed throughout the Common Room. "Message from Wood: If you're not on the pitch in a quarter of a second then he's going to drag you on by your hair, starting with the youngest."

Harry jumped up instantly, sending a silent apology to Hermione for kicking her books, and rushed out of the room, his broom clenched tightly in his arms. Unsure of whether or not Wood was serious with his threats, he was not willing to risk it. He was rather fond of his hair and did not wish to see clumps of it in the older boy's hand.

Fred and George followed Harry's lead, though not as eager to reach the pitch as the other was. It was still, after all, ridiculously early and they needed to get back at Oliver some way or the other. True, it wasn't exactly as creative as some of their plans but it would suffice, especially when being a minute late for Quidditch practice was classified as an unspeakable crime in the eyes of one Oliver Wood.

"Hey, Fred," George said, tapping his twin on the shoulder and tilting his head towards the Great Hall.

Fred stopped in his tracks, eyes scanning the dimly lit room, the flickering light from the torches illuminating the lone figure slumped across one of the tables, head buried in his arms, glasses placed carefully next to him. Fred crept towards, a grin playing on his lips at the realisation that his older brother is sound asleep and completely vulnerable to any potions that may accidently fall into his goblet. It was almost too easy, he thought, using his teeth to pull the cork from the vial and quickly poured the liquid into the goblet. It lacked challenge and finesse. It was over – just like that.

"Maybe we should jinx his glasses," George said, picking up the frames and placing them close to his face, squinting at the blurry shapes and images that greeted him. "For old times' sake?"

"As temping as that may seem," Fred began. "I don't think our dear little Percy would be able to handle losing his vision, as well as what this little potion will do, all in one day - he'd have a breakdown before breakfast."

"Next time then," he replied.

Fred placed a finger to his lips, gently crouching next to Percy. He looked so at peace. It would be a shame to-

"Percy!"

Percy jumped awake with a start, flailing his elbow in doing so and sending the book he was reading off the table, falling to the ground with a soft thud. His head snapped upwards to see two identical, and somewhat blurry, faces staring back at him. He clumsily felt around for his glasses, panicking slightly when he could not find them, a lump forming in the back of his throat. He hated being reduced to this helpless mess due to his poor vision. It terrified him. He failed to understand why his family found great amusement in this. How could they find it amusing when he found it terrifying that he could barely see a couple of inches in front of his eyes before everything became nothing but a blur?

"Here," said George, placing the glasses in Percy's hands.

Percy held up the glasses towards the roaring torches, diligently inspecting the lenses as best he could and feeling along the frame. "What did you do?" he asked bluntly, directing his attention to his brothers.

"O brother mine – so suspicious…"

"With good reason too," he said, sliding the glasses onto his face, blinking his eyes. "A jinx to make me colour blind again? Frog vision? Perhaps so I see nothing but pink bubbles whenever I concentrate too hard?"

"We're innocent," they declared, looking towards one another and nodding vigorously.

Percy remained motionless, his face stoic, lips straight and his cloudy blue eyes focused on the twin brothers. "I shall believe that when I see it – or don't, as the case may possibly be…"

"Your doubt wounds us, Percy," Fred stated, feigning a distraught expression.

"To no end, it-"

"Fred! George!" a familiar voice bellowed. Oliver stood in the entrance, anger flaring in his eyes as he stared at the three Weasley siblings. "If yer not gonnae to take Quidditch seriously then I suggest you go right back to bed and donnae bother coming back. The decision is yours." With that he left, muttering a string of colourful words under his breath.

"What the hell is his problem?" Fred asked, barely stopping himself from shouting.

Percy sighed, bending down to retrieve his fallen book, staring pensively at the cover. "Oliver's … he's having a tough time at the moment. Don't push him, please."

"What do you mean?" George asked with bewilderment, brows furrowed.

Percy shook his head with a sad smile on his face and looked up. "Run along now, boys."

"Percy…"

"Please."

The conversation was well and truly over, not to be mentioned again. The twins knew their brother well enough to know this. It did little to change how this bothered them though.

They would find out … one way or another.

They always did.

…

Percy stared blankly at his open book, eyes scanning the same words over and over again, not absorbing any of it. He did not acknowledge when Ron came and sat down next to him, a piece of toast hanging from his teeth, jam and butter dripping onto the varnished wood. He said his greetings to Hermione – he was nothing but polite, after all. The rest of the morning was quite the blur. He recalled Marcus Flint striding towards him, his emerald robes billowing behind him, and making a series of snide comments, even going so far as to insinuate insults towards Ron. Percy suspected that Flint was merely looking for a morning rouse, as he had done on several occasions in the past. It was nothing new to Percy, which is why he failed to take the bait and rise to it. He was to set an example, after all. He watched with a satisfied smirk spreading on his face as the disgruntled Slytherin left the Great Hall, pushing a first-year Hufflepuff into one of the tables as he passed and threatening another once he was out of sight.

Percy closed the book with a soft sigh and picked up his goblet, taking a large drink. The juice must have begun to settle after this time because it had an odd, lingering taste to it. Suddenly, his hands began to shake and the goblet fell from his grip, falling to the floor, the liquid already beginning to soak into the stone flooring. His throat burned and his vision blurred, the room beginning to move in an anti-clockwise direction. Or was he moving? He was leaving the Great Hall, oblivious to the stares he was receiving. His feet were moving of their own accord, far too quickly for his liking - he had to hold out his hand to steady himself. His throat burned worse than before, the muscles constricting around his windpipe. He brought a hand to his mouth to silence the dry cough, eyes widening as he saw flecks of blood coating his palm.

What was happening?

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Finally getting there. Also, I would like to point out that I did not expect to be writing the twins as often as I am. They just keep appearing without permission. It bothers me very little as I am one of those who believes that Percy gets on rather well with his siblings, the older ones and the twins especially. I think Percy gets on better with them more than he actually believes. Actually, in my mind, I can picture Ron being the sibling that Percy gets on with least because they are very alike, which is odd because he is the one sibling that (other than Ginny, obviously) that Percy openly tries to protect.

**tamara72:** Thank you. I am glad you enjoyed the chapter and this one will answer your question - though I am sure it isn't as adventurous as you expected lol

**Sara Wolf: **Yeah, Oliver is being a bit of an arse and he doesn't improve in this chapter. Don't worry though, he will see the error of his ways soon enough. You never know, he may just get that slap too :D

**Sophia Jane Marie: **Thank you so much for your review. I am glad you are enjoying it and the way I add a little flair to the book scenes. I love doing that so there will be more examples of this in the near future.

As always, thank you to those who favoured and/or follow this story. Much appreciated.


	6. Part VI

Part VI

...

"Nice of you to finally join us, Harry," Wood had said the moment Harry rushed into the changing rooms, his cheeks growing red at the unwanted looks he was now receiving from his team mates. He wasn't that late. "What kept you?"

Harry laughed gingerly; absently scratching the back of his head as he quickly placed his broom against the wall with the others and sat down in the first empty section of bench he could see, which was next to Katie Bell. He stole a quick glance across at the twins, who looked oddly serious in comparison to how laid back they had been in the Common Room not a few short moments ago. Even the girls, who took every opportunity to playfully banter with the lads over everything and anything, looked subdued. The only flicker of familiarity was the incredulous glare that Angelina was boring into Wood.

"Well?" Wood demanded briskly, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

"Oh," Harry stuttered, surprised. "Something came up." Even to Harry's ears that excuse sounded ridiculous and poorly constructed. He scrunched up his face, eyes half closed as he waited for the inevitable onslaught he was to receive.

Wood opened and closed his mouth, as if to comment, but decided against it and turned around swiftly, tapping the board in front of him with his wand, instantly breathing life into the chalk-like images. "I spent the summer devising a whole new training programme, for obvious reasons-" Why did Harry get the feeling that that comment was directed towards him and that Oliver was still agonising about their devastating loss last year? "–It'll make a huge difference…"

Oliver meticulously explained the concepts he had devised, pausing only to observe his teammates and ensure there were no difficulties in understanding, before moving along to the next board. It took longer than he originally anticipated. He had to repeat and rephrase himself several times because he could tell from the puzzled expressions that stared back at him that there was a severe lack of understanding. Sometimes he wondered whether he was speaking English at times.

"Any questions?" he asked, clapping his hands together as he watched the signs of life appear on the faces of his team.

"I've got a question, Oliver," George groaned, stretching his arms out. "Why couldn't you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes, fists clenching at his sides. "Now, listen here, you lot," he snarled, glowering at them all, "we should have won the Quidditch Cup last year. We're easily the best team. But unfortunately, owing to circumstances beyond our control…"

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his place, his leg hitting Katie's in the process. Now he knew that comment was directed towards him.

"This year, we train harder than ever before. Let's go!"

Harry thought that the mood would be lifted the moment the arduous meeting ended. The crisp morning air felt wonderful compared to the stuffy atmosphere in the changing rooms and seeing the sun shining on the grass, the thin blanket of dew glistening, cleansed his eyes and made him feel more awake than before. It made him feel refreshed and eager to practice, trying out some of those plays that Oliver was so excited about. He was fairly sure that he fully understood what it was that the Scottish boy was trying to say, however, there were a few occasions where he doubted the words that spewed from his mouth were even English. He never mentioned this to Oliver though. To be honest, no one said anything, which made Harry wonder whether the problem was with him. Maybe being raised by the Durleys and having their prim and proper ways forced down his throat caused him to lack the basic ability to understand any accent that wasn't the distorted Queen's English.

His stomach rumbled when he caught sight of the toast that Ron, who was sitting in the stands with Hermione, was currently devouring. No doubt it was his second or third round. Surely he would not mind sharing? He was about to rush forward when a clicking sound and a bright flash of light caught his attention.

"Not now, Colin," he groaned under his breath. ("Look this way, Harry! This way!") Maybe if he was lucky, no one on the team would notice the overexcited first-year snapping photographs like they were going out of fashion. Hopefully, everyone would be too engrossed with Oliver's new tactics. Maybe-

"Looks like Harry's got himself a fan," Fred laughed.

"Other than our sister, that is," George added.

"Smile for the camera," Fred sniggered as George stood beside him, arms elongated and fingers laced together to form a small rectangular shape. "Snap!"

Colin's camera flashed again and this time it was the girls who burst out into fits of giggles. Katie clenched Alicia's arm, squealing and swooning when Harry looked in their direction.

"He cannae be here with that!" Oliver bellowed suddenly and Harry could have sworn that he saw Colin flinch and lower his camera. "He could be a Slytherin spy for all we know."

"He's in Gryffindor," Harry said quickly.

"And the Slytherins don't need a spy, Oliver," said George, looking over Oliver's shoulder and seeing a small group of green-clad students walking onto the pitch, broomsticks in their hands.

"Widnae put it past them…"

George whistled, pointing his finger behind Oliver.

"I don't believe it!" Oliver hissed, turning on his heel and striding towards the Slytherins, hand clenched tightly around his broom. "This is our practice time. Sod off!"

Flint smirked as he reached into his robes and removed a rolled up sheet of parchment. "I've got a specially sighed note here from Professor Snape." He pressed the note towards Oliver, gripping it tighter as the other went to retrieve it. "And while we are on the subject of notes. I did have another that I wanted to share with you, but some prefect confiscated it. Don't worry though; I'll make sure he gets what's coming to him for that," he said in a low voice, smiling his contempt as he removed his grip from the parchment.

Oliver never removed his eyes from Flint as he forcefully opened the note, paying no heed as he tore through the parchment. "_I, Professor S Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new Seeker," _he read, closing the parchment immediately after. "You've got a new Seeker?" he asked, thrusting the note in Flint's chest with a satisfied thump. "Where?"

Harry was taken back when he saw a blond haired boy emerging from behind the group larger figures, a grin plastered on his face. "Malfoy?"

"Hello, Potter," he sneered.

"Lucious Malfoy's son?" Fred asked, looking at the boy with dislike in his eyes.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint, as the whole Slytherin team smiled broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team…"

"What's happening?" Ron shouted from across the pitch, running over the grass with Hermione close at his heels. "Why aren't you – what's _he _doing here?" he shouted, furiously pointing a finger at Draco and becoming wide-eyed when he saw the robes he wore.

"I'm the new Seeker, Weasley," he replied in a smug voice, eyes crinkled in amusement. "We were just in the process of showing everyone our new brooms – courtesy of my father."

"N-Nimbus Two Thousand and One?" he gaped, mouth opening and closing, his eyes travelling across the immaculately polished broom.

"Good, aren't they? Perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get some new brooms too? You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives, I expect a museum would bid for them," he said smoothly, looking back at the rest of his team, who howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in," Hermione said sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

"Wanna bet?" Flint sneered with a curl of his lip.

Before anyone could comment, Oliver threw down his broom and lunged forward, grabbing Flint's robes in a firm grasp, fury racing through him.

"I widnae say that in front of me, Flint! That's bullshit!" he growled.

"Is it?" Flint retorted, a crooked half smile distorting his face.

Oliver tightened his grip, fingers pinching the skin beneath the robes. He was oblivious to the world around him, not hearing the shocked gasps and nervous words of his team mates as they tried to defuse the situation. It was no use though. Anger coursed through his veins like venom as his heart hammered frantically within his chest, his pulse pounding in his head, beating like a never-ending drum.

"Don't think you can bully me, Flint, because I will make sure you regret it," he snarled vehemently.

Flint leaned in closer, voice lowering to an abrasive whisper as he continued to antagonise the irate boy. "You're beginning to sound like that little lap dog of yours. You ought to be proud - he showed his teeth last time I saw him."

Flint gasped as a forceful, yet unexpected, blow knocked him down to the floor and onto his back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"For once, I'm glad Percy isnae here because he would have stopped that," Oliver said, staring at Flint with a look of disgust on his face. He retrieved his broom and turned away, loudly shouting "Practice cancelled!" before leaving the pitch.

The Gryffindor team, bar Harry who had been dragged into an argument between Ron and Malfoy, watched Oliver leave, concern written across their faces.

"I've never seen Oliver act that way before," Angelina said solemnly, turning her attention to the rest of her team. "Sure, Flint and he have had this rivalry since the first year, and he has quite the temper, but never this bad…"

Katie nodded in agreement. "Something must have happened, but what?"

"Well, asking him is out of the question – less we end up like that," Angelina replied, nodding towards Flint, who was still wiping blood off the corner of his mouth.

"Oliver would never do that to one of us!" Alicia snapped. "Regardless of his mood…"

"So … what do we do?" Angelina asked, hoping for an easy solution.

"Leave it to us," Fred said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll find out."

George remained quiet throughout, recalling what Percy had said earlier. Whatever was going on with Oliver involved Marcus Flint, which was never a good thing. Flint was vicious, both on and off the pitch. Whatever it was couldn't be good…

….

Oliver stormed through the castle, bumping into various people who scowled when he made no apology. It wouldn't be wise for him to do so either because the anger and frustration inside him was too pent up, bubbling onto the surface. If he stopped, he would regret it. Usually if he was wound too tight, he would take to the pitch and just fly, closing his eyes and letting the wind blow away all his thoughts and emotions. Upon descending, he would always find Percy sitting in the stands, usually with a book in his hands, as if knowing where Oliver was and the reasons for his being there.

"Calmed down, have we?" he would say in a light voice, not looking up from the book he was reading.

And Oliver would laugh. Really laugh. Percy would close his book and smile warmly, before adding soft laughter himself.

It would be over – just like that.

Oliver couldn't do that this time though. He knew if he took to the air, Percy wouldn't be in the stands waiting for him. Not this time.

"Oi, Wood!" shouted a voice behind him.

Oliver stopped but did not turn. "What?" he snapped.

"What's going on?"

"That's none of your concern," Oliver said testily, looking over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the redhead, who stood rigid behind him.

"It is when it concerns our brother," said another voice from his left, catching Oliver off guard and causing him to turn on the spot to face the newest voice.

George was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest; face emotionless and drawn. Fred walked closer, his steps echoing loudly off the old concrete walls.

Oliver absently tightened the grip on his broom, running his thumb along the handle, the polished surface smooth under his fingers. "This doesnae-"

"Oh, come off it, Oliver," Fred said, stopping directly behind Oliver. "We know what an insult directed towards Percy sounds like."

"Especially ones as low as Flint's," George added.

"You Weasleys are all the same – you don't know when not to stick your nose into other people's business," Oliver grumbled and continued walking ahead, hearing two sets of footsteps shadowing his own.

"Stubbornness runs in our family."

"Aye, I see that. Are you gonnea quit following me?" he sighed.

"No," they coursed together.

The Scottish boy gritted his teeth tightly as he muttered the password to the Fat Lady's portrait, quickly slipping inside, noting that the Common Room was empty. Maybe everyone was still at breakfast?

"You'll be following me for a long time then," he told them, descending the stone staircase that leads to his dormitory.

"We know."

He briefly considered using a locking charm but decided against that. It would do little to keep the twins away. They always surprised him by knowing every nook and cranny of the castle. No corridor was secret from the twins.

Upon entering his dormitory, he carefully placed his broom on the latches that hung near to his bed before taking a look around. Nothing had changed since he left this morning, which meant that Percy had yet to return. He was probably around the castle with Penelope.

"Make yourselves at home, why don't yer," he muttered under his breath, watching Fred throwing himself onto Percy's bed, propping the pillow and leaning against the headboard.

"Already am," Fred grinned. "Might grab a catnap while I'm here – catch up on lost sleep."

George sniggered. Even with his back towards Oliver and his twin, he could clearly picture the exchange inside his head. He gently ran his fingers across the edges of the desk. It was exactly the same as the desk at the Burrow, even down to the chipped markings on the wood due to a rather explosive accident. Percy was always attached to the strangest of things. He picked up a battered copy of _A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ as he saw a sliver of parchment poking out of the pages. He opened the book to investigate the curious piece of parchment but only managed to read half of the message before something caught the corner of his eye. With trembling hands, he placed the book back on the desk, knocking over an empty glass and causing it to fall to the floor with a shattering sound, shards of gleaming glass scattering along the wooden floor.

"W-why is there blood on the door?" he stammered, pointing his finger towards the bathroom door, the golden handle stained with a crimson smear.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

This was longer than I expected. I did originally have this split into two chapters but I didn't it would work out as well so I merged them into one longer chapter, which is always a good thing. Also, just in case any of you are wondering: I am basing Oliver's accent on a friend of mine, rather than the lovely accent that Sean Biggerstaff had in the film. Sean's accent is lovely and subtle but I just cannot picture the Oliver in my head with it - I picture him with a thick Glaswegian accent. Ironically enough, re-reading the book I realised that Oliver does have a few stereotypical Glaswegian characteristics too, which made me laugh.

So, moving along...

**Sara:** I love your headcanon! It's actually quite similar to my own, in fact. I also agree that he is seriously unappreciated by everyone - the fandom included! I'm also blown away by your kind words :) Thanks!

**tamara72**: They'll see soon enough. Mark my words :D


	7. Part VII

Part VII

...

George knew from the moment he caught sight of the bloodied handle from his peripheral vision that something was wrong. Something was very wrong. He did not even need to eliminate whose blood it could be because there was only one person in the equation: Percy. An icy hand tore through his spine and crawled down the rest of his body, its tendrils twisting around every crevice and squeezing tightly, imprinting its cold impression on his flesh and ensnaring him in its terrible and suffocating grasp, choking him, feeding off his body warmth. The spinal fingers tightened their grip and held him down, welding his feet firmly to the ground and rending him useless, unable to move. He could only watch the image of himself rushing forward, not the slightest bit fazed by the bloodied mark on the handle, and forcing the door open. The terror that shone in his eyes at that moment scared him. Never had he witnessed those blue eyes clouded with such raw fear and panic. The emotion overwhelmed him, leaving him windless.

He was alone. Oliver had followed Fred into the bathroom, not pausing for one moment to shoot a glance in George's direction, silently demanding to know why he had yet to move. The simple answer was that he couldn't.

He was afraid.

Deathly afraid at what he would see on the other side of that door.

Seeing the blood on the handle and knowing it was Percy's was enough. It was too much for him. If he didn't go into the bathroom then he couldn't see Percy. He could, for one moment, pretend this wasn't real. It was a silly childish notion but it was one he clung to, tightly holding it in his grip and refusing to let anyone take it from him. Nothing bad could ever happen to Percy because he was far too careful, too vigilant and too sensible to let anything happen. Percy was safe. While the others were off breaking bones from outrageous accidents, Percy would be receiving paper cuts from reading too many books. Everyone would flaunt their injury like it was a grand trophy while Percy would briefly mutter something under his breath. Everyone would tease Percy about this while he would simply roll his eyes and walk away, as if he was better than such childishness.

George simply did not want to believe anything could happen to his older brother. Not to Percy.

He would not go into that room.

He refused…

"George…"he heard himself calling from the other room, desperation filling his voice.

No, not his voice – Fred's.

_Please don't make me, Fred_, he pleaded because he knew that the only person who could get him inside that room was his twin. If Fred wanted him – needed him – he would drop everything and comply, regardless of emotion involved. If anyone could make him do anything, it was Fred. Always Fred. Only Fred. He wished he could selfishly turn and leave, returning to his dormitory and sleeping the day away, awaking the next morning to find that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. However, he couldn't – wouldn't – do this. Not if-

"…_please_…" it was a barely heard whisper but it spoke volumes.

George rushed forward and came to an immediate halt when he entered the bathroom, his eyes automatically drawn towards the vibrant pallet of colour against the pristine white. The stark contrast between the white and red was overbearing, breathtakingly haunting. The steady drip of water from the faucet failed to wash away anything, instead decorating the corners of the basin with splashes of diluted red. Dotted fingerprints adorned the porcelain rim, painting a grotesque picture that snaked down the mount and abruptly ended with a distorted handprint. A gargled noise brought George back into the plain of reality and his head snapped to where the sound originated. Three figures were huddled on the ground. George dropped to his knees and placed a firm, reassuring hand on his twin's shoulder as he took in the sight before him. Percy lay motionless on the ground, head resting at an angle on Fred's legs. The only sign of life that came from him was the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he took sharp, pain-filled breaths. He swiftly looked around, eyes urgently searching the room for the glasses that Percy was not wearing. He was not sure why, but the fact that they were absent from Percy's face bothered him. Another gargled sound drew his attention back. He watched, eyes wide with fear, as Percy's body convulsed and blood poured from his mouth, staining Fred's lightly coloured trousers. Fred lifted his head slightly to keep him from choking furthermore on the blood that rose from his throat.

"We need to get him to Madam Pomfrey," George said, not taking his eyes away from the sight of his twin gently cradling Percy, gloved fingers caressing his head.

"Aye, I agree," replied Oliver.

George looked up, having almost forgotten about Oliver's presence in the room. Like Fred, Oliver's clothes were speckled with deep blotches, his pants soaking up the puddle of blood he was kneeling in, and his gloveless hands were tinted red. It made George wonder of the sight that must have greeted both boys as they rushed into the room and whether Percy was worse before, compared to how he is now.

"What do you think caused this?" he asked.

Oliver shook his head. "I don't know," he sighed heavily. "I cannae see anything…"

George nodded and looked towards his brothers, knowing that Oliver was doing the very same thing. "Fred…" he began.

Fred exhaled loudly, the sound matching Percy's breaths, and moved his head firmly up and down. "I know."

Oliver edged closer as he slipped one arm under Percy's legs and wrapped the other securely behind his back, lifting the weight and bringing him to his chest. Fred watched carefully. He knew that having Oliver carry him this way would be a lot easier and faster than conjuring a stretcher, though he was not looking forward to the lecture that he was sure they would all receive once Madam Pomfrey caught wind of their rough treatment of her soon-to-be patient. No, he was not looking forward to being on the receiving end of Madam Pomfrey's wrath…

Fred felt himself being pulled to his feet. He stood, confused. Where was Oliver and Percy?

"You okay?" George asked, concern and worry etched across his features.

Knowing that there was no point in attempted to evade the truth, Fred answered honestly. "No."

"Neither am I."

….

Oliver dashed through the castle, bumping into various people, who gasped and stared open-mouthed at what transpired before them. Oliver did not care thought - not about the pointed looks or the students behind them. Nothing mattered to him bar getting Percy to the infirmary as quick as he could. Nothing else mattered. He subconsciously pulled Percy closer as flecks of their argument last night invaded his mind. He was reminded of something he was told countless times as a child, and numerous times as a teenager, by his Gram.

"Give your tongue more holidays than your head, Oliver," she would say, a newspaper in one hand and ball of wool in the other. "Think before you speak." She would then proceed to tie a piece of wool around his finger to remind him of her words, which would do very little but it kept her happy knowing he had a constant reminder attached to him.

"'m sorry, mate…"he muttered quickly under his breath, though he was certain that the words would be illegible if Percy could actually hear them.

At that moment Percy groaned, eyes fluttering slightly. His vision was blurred, unfocused. His head throbbed. His throat burned. He opened his mouth, hoping to rid himself of the metallic taste that filled his mouth, lingered on his tongue and coated his teeth. However, doing so had the exact opposite effect and the blood that was constantly flowing down his gullet escaped from his mouth, burning his throat furthermore. His head fell forward, resting against something soft. Red covered his vision. He panicked. Why was blood covering his eyes? He groaned once again, eyes fluttering closed as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Oliver picked up his pace, not stopping before he reached the infirmary. He was surprised when he saw Fred and George standing outside.

"How did you?" he said, confusion written across his face. It was impossible!

"No time for that," they said, pushing the doors open.

Oliver nodded and rushed inside, the twins directly behind him.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

This chapter caused me great difficulties because how I originally intended for it to be inside my head, did not look and sound right on screen. I'm hoping it turned out better though.

As always. Thanks goes out to those who have reviewed and/or fave/followed this story. It is always appreciated - dearly!

**Flames In Fire**: Always a pleasure to read your reviews as they fill me with such joy. Hopefully this chapter will answer some of your questions and ensure that you don't throw any tantrums. Nothing worse for a parent than that lol

** .Elephants**: I'm glad you are enjoying it so far. It pleases me immensely to hear what people think of this story. Percy is my favourite too and it is terrible how unappreciated he is.

**tamara72**: If I told you the cause, then I would be spoiling the story :D

**Sara Wolfe**: Glad you liked that little touch. I don't know why but I can easily picture the twins being very protective of all their family members - dangerously protective in fact.


	8. Part VIII

Part VIII

...

Fred cracked his head from side to side; a small grin creasing his face as he pressed his back firmly against the wall, shifting his right leg close to his chest and bringing his hand closer to conceal the cards he held. He fanned them between his fingers, eyes lingering on the symbols for a moment before choosing a card and throwing it facedown onto the growing pile on the floor.

Nothing happened.

"Your turn," he said, lazily casting his eyes to the left.

George nodded as stared at his own cards, eyes lifting for a mere moment to look at the others, before dramatically drawing a card and placing it down. He hunched forward, eyes widening in delight as he watched a spectral figure, which had the resembling of a mermaid, energetically leap from the card, droplets of water cascading down the pile and staining the stone floor below. Soft, childlike laughter escaped from the figure's lips as she summoned three balls of shimmering blue light and held them in the palm of her hand before bringing it close to her face and blowing. The bubbles of light wisped forward and encircled George, playfully dancing in the air and evading his attempts at touching them. Their dance soon turned into a sprint, which quickly transpired into a marathon. He tried to keep his eyes on the balls but they spun so quickly that he all he could see was a river of light. He could feel the cold droplets of water spraying against his face and dampening his hair. The matched cards must have equalled a low number if all he was receiving was a light shower. As if sensing the thoughts that were travelling around the others head, the balls of light suddenly stopped and rushed forward, exploding in a rush of water. The figure laughed once again and flipped in the air before darting back into the card.

"Wicked," he laughed, running a hand through his sodden hair and flicking water in several directions.

"Let's see," Oliver murmured, gazing at his cards and absently licking his thumb and trapping the cindering edge between his fingers, exhuming the smoulder with a sizzling hiss. At least his robes were no longer alight, which he took as a positive sign. However, it did little to help the decision in which card to part with. There were only three remaining – how hard could it be?

"Here goes nothing," he said, bunching the cards together and swiftly shuffling them before throwing the middle card down.

The moment the card hit the pile, a dense cloud of smoke erupted and several angry popping sounds cracked off the walls, followed by high-pitched trills of laughter. The fog obscured his vision but when he strained, Oliver could see a faint figure hovering above the pile of cards. The figure moved in a flurry of colour around his head, laughing the words "You Lose" over and over. Whenever he caught sight of the figure, a ball of darkness would envelop him and ringing would echo in his ears. The laughter ceased. Oliver looked around but could see nothing but the dark blanket. Front, behind, left and right, up and down – just darkness. He looked forward once again and was taken back when a figure appeared in his direct line if vision. A paper-white face adorned with dark markings, large colourless eyes and a wide, somewhat feral, grin stared back at him. It tilted its head, the black and red hat that sat atop a mop of dark hair jingled, and laughed once again.

"You … lose," it spoke, snapping its gloved fingers and disappearing with a final, dazzling white, explosion.

The fog slowly began to evaporate into the air.

"Did Jester appear?"

Oliver nodded, patting himself down to exhume any smouldering flames that had caught his robes during the explosion. Hopefully his robes weren't beyond repair.

"Lucky you," George said, gathering the cards together and carefully putting them inside a slightly battered box with the words _Jester's Exploding Snap_! engraved into the pulsating cloud of smoke that adorned the front. "No matter how many times I lose, I've yet to see Jester once – and I've had some pretty big explosions too! Hardly fair, if you ask me."

Oliver arched his spine, pressing his shoulder blades together to help relieve the tension that was coursing through his body. "I cannae remember the last time I saw Jester. Might have been on Christmas Eve – my brother and I were waiting to see if Bodach would appear that year … must have been about five. By the way, how long have we been out here?" he asked.

"Bodach? Does Father Christmas not visit Scotland?" Fred asked lightly, holding out his hand. "Also, I would say we've been here nearly five hours – give or take a few minutes."

"Might be longer actually," George replied, staring out the window as he handed the deck of cards over to his twin. "Looks like it's going to be dark soon…"

"What time was it when Madam Pomfrey kicked us out?"

"We must have gotten there for 10:30ish and we were kicked out about five minutes after that … so yeah…"

Fred watched a small group of first years scurry past them, whispering and shooting odd glances in their direction. Was it that odd to see a trio of older students, still clad in Gryffindor Quidditch robes, sitting outside the hospital wing playing Exploding Snap and various other games to keep themselves occupied?

"Who's Bodach then?" he asked again. Perhaps the story could prove to be entertaining.

"Bodach was a criminal wizard who stole and terrorised wee kiddies on Christmas Eve," he began, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "He'd apperate into their homes when everyone was asleep and would torment the sleeping children until they woke in fear. If the children deemed 'naughty' in his eyes, he would steal them and leave a lump of coal in their beds. However, if they deemed 'good', Bodach, would disappear into the night with a promise of returning the following year. Obviously, once the Ministry caught wind of this, they sent an Auror to chase him down. Cailleach devoted her life to capturing Bodach. She would follow and altered the memories of the families with missing children and would leave a gift for the children who escaped capture. It took thirty odd years before Cailleach caught him and sentenced him to life in Azkaban. Story has it that he escaped and that his ghost continues to visit children on Christmas Eve.

"At least, that's what Gram told us if we misbehaved," he laughed gingerly, rubbing the back of his head with an awkward smile.

"Misbehave?" Fred said, holding out his right arm to the side before doing the same with his left. "Get kidnapped?"

"Seems fair," George chimed in.

"I take it you didn't see him then - seeing as though you are here and all."

Oliver exhaled, slowly shaking his head from side to side. "We didnae see him that night. We even tried to spruce things up a little by having Rob jinx a broom that I'd nicked from Gramps in hopes of next year being successful."

George shifted his position. The floor was beginning to get a little uncomfortable and his rear end was losing feeling. He was about to push himself up and enjoy the feeling of all the blood rushing its way back to his body when the door opened and a slightly tousled looking Madam Pomfrey stepped out.

"Didn't I tell you to return to your – what have I told you about playing _Exploding Snap_ outside my corridor?" she said in a hard voice, pulling the door to with a satisfying click and taking in the appearances of the three students sitting on the ground.

Fred jumped up and rushed forward, skidding to an immediate halt in front of the stern Healer. "How is Percy?" he asked.

That question had been quietly brewing in the back of his mind all afternoon. He tried to push it away several times because he knew that Percy was in excellent hands but every so often, it would surface, rearing its ugly head as a reminder of what happened. He could not exactly forget what had happened – the physical evidence stained deep into his robes, but knowing that Percy was in the hands of another took away the responsibility. There was nobody more capable at fixing up students than Madam Pomfrey. He had lost count of the number of times she would scold them for their pranks or would chastise the Gryffindor Quidditch team for their roughhousing during practice, stating that they had more injuries than any other teams put together.

No, she would fix everything and Percy would stay in the hospital wing for a couple of days, complaining constantly that he was missing important Prefect business and falling behind in classes.

"Mr Weasley is not doing well at all, I'm afraid," the woman sighed, bringing her hands together and regarding them with a soft expression. "He's burning from the inside and the area most affected – or should I say the area only affected, is his throat. It is not the work of a charm or jinx but that of a potion, a poorly brewed one, I would wager. Unfortunately for us though, his body seems to be rejecting all my attempts, which is just putting additional and unwanted stress on him."

"Is he going to be okay though?" Oliver asked, stepping forward.

Madam Pomfrey closed her eyes, shaking her head. "We won't know the full extent of the damage until after he wakes, I'm afraid. Until then, I do highly recommend you returning to your dormitories."

With that, she turned away from the three students and proceeded to walk down the corridor before disappearing out of sight. They stood in silence for a moment until Oliver declared that he had something to sort out and would meet them in the dormitory later on.

"Poorly brewed?" Fred said, watching Oliver leave.

"That's not us," George replied.

* * *

To be continued...

* * *

Okay, I'm glad that that is finally out of the way. Hopefully it also answered some of your questions too.  
As you can see, I decided to add my own little spin on Exploding Snap just because we were never really given much information on what happens other than the exploding part. I just wanted to make it a little more fun other than "boom - you lose".

Once again, a big thank you goes out to those who reviews and/or faved this story. It makes me happy to know that you are all enjoying it as much as I am.


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